A World Without You
by bikini-monster
Summary: HPDM; one day, Draco woke up in a world where Harry Potter didn't exist.


Disclaimer: HP belongs to JK Rowling and co.

AN: Thanks to my best friend for proofreading it!

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><p><strong>WARNING: OOCness, AU undertones<strong>

**A World Without You (is my own little brand of hell)**

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><p>Draco Malfoy looked into the uncomprehending eyes of the woman lying prone of the hospital bed. There were many signs that she had once been beautiful and happy. But the laugh lines and bright green eyes have all but dulled and been abandoned to the tender care of the psychiatric ward.<p>

The woman twitched and a line of drool dribbled down the side of her mouth.

Draco flinched. Again, he questioned the wisdom of visiting St. Mungo's alone.

Over on the next bed, the woman's husband slept. He was the more docile of the pair. He didn't shout or garble. In fact, if it were not for his dancing eyes, James Potter would have easily passed as sane. But Draco couldn't bear to stand any closer to him. The rumours were true. Harry Potter did look remarkably like his father.

The woman twitched again. This time, a tear slid down.

These two shouldn't be alive.

Draco bowed his head.

He felt a strange warmth on the back of his neck and rubbed at it uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for intruding your peace like this, Mrs. Potter," he said, "but I wanted to ask you if you knew what happened to your son."

X

_What happened to Harry Potter?_

X

Draco lifted his head from the ledge when the little bell hanging above his shop door jingled. It was Granger. She gave a little start of surprise when she saw him behind the counter.

Draco nodded at her. He usually left the managing of his apothecary to Mr. Arnold, who called in sick today. "Afternoon," he said.

"...good afternoon, Malfoy."

Malfoy? Someone was being a little formal today.

Draco ignored it. It wasn't like he was the epitome of politeness in front of her all the time. "What brings you down here today? Flu cures for your children? I hear it's been going around."

"Sore throat, actually. Your store has the freshest ingredients."

Draco hummed absently. "I pride myself on them. I have a case of newt eyes and salamander tails just come in today, if you're interested." He turned his attention back to the ledger and was considering a purchase of Horntail spikes when Granger cleared her throat.

She was wearing a strange look Draco has not seen directed at him since ... well since the war. Back then, she had been trying to decide if she could trust him, and for her to look at him like that now was - a little insulting. "Is something wrong?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" said Granger.

"Come again?"

"You never greet me. Even when we see each other every year to send our children to Hogwarts, you never so much as nod at me. So why are you asking after my children now?"

Draco stared at her, perplexed. "Are you quite alright?"

"I should be asking you that question."

Draco frowned. "Granger, I've babysat your children. We camped together for the Quidditch World Cup Final. We both celebrated May Day together at Potter's. I'm not sure what I've done recently to earn this hostility but I don't appreciate it."

"Malfoy, I have no idea what you're talking about," said Granger.

"Is this some kind of prank? Did Potter and Weasley put you up to this?"

"Malfoy, please. Stop."

"What?"

"I really think you're confused about something. We don't see each other _at all_. We're not friends. I wouldn't even have known the name of your wife if your son hadn't told my Rose." Draco wanted to protest but Granger plowed on. "And this Potter person you keep bringing up - I don't know him."

Draco snorted. "Yeah, right. Like anyone in this whole wide wizarding world hasn't heard of Harry Potter."

Granger's stare was wide-eyed. "Maybe it's your mind that's tampered with. You should get yourself checked."

"There's nothing wrong with me! You're the one who's playing," said Draco.

"I'm not playing! I don't know any Harry Potter. I've never heard of him!" Granger left the store in a rush, pushing the door so hard, it swung.

Draco was left gaping behind the counter, unsure of what to make of what just happened. It was such a peculiar incident he found himself drawing a blank. Granger denying that she knew Harry Potter? It was preposterously hilarious.

Maybe when Draco has the evening paper on his lap and a cup of brandy in his hand later, he'll laugh about it properly and send Granger a letter demanding what the hell that was about.

A tap on the window drew his attention back. It was an owl, delivering Mr. Arnold's _Daily Prophet_. Draco untied the paper from its leg, paid it, and ran a cursory glance over the front page.

_The Chosen One Goes on Holiday with Family_, the headlines declared. Under those words, lips stretched in a wide, cheeky grin and one arm around Ginny Weasley was Neville Longbottom.

Draco stared and stared and stared at the article for the longest time. He read and re-read the captions, the headlines and the first few paragraphs. There was no mistaking it. Dropping the paper, Draco moved to the small fireplace in his shop. He needed to make a call.

X

"I'm looking for Potter."

"Who?"

"Potter?"

"Who's that?"

"_Harry_ Potter."

"Never heard of him."

"What does he look like?"

"He attend Hogwarts too?"

"Really? Our year?"

"Don't know whatcha talkin' bout, mate."

"The man who killed Voldemort."

"Ah, see, his name ain't Potter. It's Long-"

"Does _anyone_ remember Harry Potter?"

"If it's the Potters you're looking for, they're in St. Mungo's. Psychiatric ward. Good luck."

X

Draco extinguished his seventh fire call to the Department of Wizarding Public Records hotly after the attendant insisted, again, that there was no other information regarding Harry James Potter.

By the records, Harry Potter did not exist any more. He died as a baby when Voldemort visited Godric's Hollow. His death drove his parents to madness. Hardly anyone remembered him and no one understood why he was relevant.

Draco was about to shut himself up in the family library again when his mother came in with the afternoon tea. "What has gotten you so riled up, darling? It is most unlike you to lose your composure these days."

"It's nothing, mother," he said.

Narcissa set the cups and poured the tea. "You aren't still hung up on that boy who died, are you?"

Draco barely refrained from snorting at the irony.

"I don't understand what you hope to achieve by pursuing this matter, dear," said Narcissa.

"I told you. Some things just don't add up," said Draco.

"Like what?"

Draco turned away moodily, unsure of how he could explain that _everything_ didn't add up. Potter did i_not_ die as a baby. He lived. He went to school with Draco. He won the war against Voldemort. He saved the world.

How did Draco suddenly wake up in a world when none of that happened?

X

The first thought that came to mind was that someone had cursed Potter. Harry Potter was the most celebrated Auror of their time. It wouldn't be a surprise if some dark wizard tried to vanquish him by some sort of antiquated Dark Magic. Which was why Draco searched the tomes of his family library.

He was working his way through every shelf, searching for a spell that could possibly erase a wizard's existence so completely as Potter's had been.

But there was nothing of the kind. Not even in the oldest manuscripts dictating the foundations of magic in humans. There were spells to alter perception and circumstances, but only if they were contained, and there was no such thing as altering reality itself.

It was unheard of. Impossible.

Human magic just didn't work that way.

X

Draco pushed his way into The Three Broomsticks and immediately saw Blaise Zabini's waving hand from amidst the afternoon crowd. Next to his old schoolmate was a beautiful little girl with Blaise's sharp eyes and dark hair, who gave Draco an appreciative glance as Draco took the seat opposite them.

Draco made a point to avoid looking at her as he reached over and grasped Blaise's shoulder lightly in greeting.

"Good to see you, Draco. I believe you remember Desiree."

"Of course. She's grown beautiful," said Draco.

"No hitting on my daughter, Draco," teased Blaise.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Where's Greg?"

"Running late as usual," said Blaise. "he might not be coming at all if he doesn't manage to settle his paperwork in time. He's always been rather scatterbrained."

"'Stupid' is the word you're looking for." Draco ordered himself some Muggle lager and raised an eyebrow when he saw Blaise make a face. "What?"

"When did you start drinking such swill?"

"A friend introduced it to me. It grows on you. By the way, did you get the books I wanted?"

Blaise shook his head. "Sorry, I tried my best. Most of the books you asked for were burnt during the Salem era. The only copies are all in Hogwarts. Why do you need such old texts anyway? Are you pushing to be the next magical historian or something?"

"Perhaps," Draco said evasively. "I have a lot of time on my hands."

"Maybe you should use that time to restrain that wife of yours. She made the tabloids again."

Draco shrugged. "What Astoria does in her spare time doesn't bother me."

"Why not divorce her?"

"Scorpius still loves his mother."

"What about you? Don't _you_ need some love?"

Draco saw Desiree spare him a quick glance and said. "We're _Slytherins_."

Blaise let out a bark of laughter. "That's Draco for you."

The conversation lulled slightly when Goyle arrived clumsily, wide and oafish, quills sticking out of his pockets messily.

Goyle worked for the _Evening Times, _a subsidiary of the i_Prophet/i_, which was rather alarming and the reason why Draco never read the _Times_ any more. Goyle planted himself next to Draco, shoulders in a tired slump.

"Sorry. The paper's been driving me mad," said Goyle.

"I tell you, they've got it in for the ex-Death Eaters. Doesn't matter that some of us never took the Mark. As long as our fathers used to follow Voldemort, we're screwed for life," said Blaise with an ugly sneer.

Draco leaned back and tuned him out. When Blaise got into one of his rants, it was usually best to let him work it out. Besides, Draco was in a sour mood and had no ear for Blaise's whines.

He's made no headway in his research. Whoever had done this to Potter must be a very powerful wizard indeed and it was impossible to pin down possible suspects. It wasn't as if Dark Wizards signed their names on some sort of list. But what Draco couldn't understand was why he was the only one who remembered Potter? Shouldn't it be the people who were closest to Potter who noticed his disappearance?

In fact, Draco tired contacting them, but Granger wasn't the only one who thought he'd gone crazy. Ginny Weasley told him to stop bothering her and never to come near her family again. Hagrid recommended a large mug of ale to cure his 'delusion'. Luna Lovegood - well, she said she was glad someone else had imaginary friends too.

Above all, Draco couldn't understand why someone would take Harry Potter out of the equation and replace him with -

"- Longbottom."

Draco snapped out of his reverie at the name."What?"

"I was just saying that the paper's pushing for more gossip about Longbottom," said Goyle

"Yeah, the Chosen One," said Blaise, voice dripping with scorn.

"You might want to be more careful, Zabini. You don't want to go back to Azkaban, do you?" said Goyle.

"You've been to Azkaban before, Father?" said Desiree. "You never said."

"Your mother screams whenever I bring it up at home," said Blaise. "I tried to assassinate Longbottom once. Nearly succeeded but that git manages to pull out some miraculous power in do-or-die situations. Old Magic loves that prat."

"Old Magic?" said Draco.

"Natural magic laws plus preconscious magical ability. Longbottom is practically protected by it, seeing how he's virtually useless with everyday spells but still somehow managed to defeat Voldemort," said Blaise.

Draco leaned over in interest. "Can you tell me more about it?"

Blaise scratched his head. "Not really. I only know because my old man used to talk about it. But those single-copy books you were looking for, they probably have more information about it."

"Why are you suddenly interested in Old Magic, Draco?" said Goyle.

Draco faked a noncommittal shrug. "Might come in handy, don't you think? Having that sort of magic on your side."

Blaise laughed. "Are you serious? Draco, trying to get Old Magic on your side is like trying to get Luck on your side. It can't be done!"

"Then how did Longbottom do it?"

"There's no reasonable explanation," said Blaise. "Some people are just born with it. I guess you would call them 'blessed'."

X

Neville Longbottom. The Chosen One.

_Don't make me laugh._ No matter how many times Draco heard it, he felt like snarling.

Draco glared at the girl who dared to bring it up in front of him until she broke down, crying, and ran out of the Great Hall.

Several onlookers turned to stare bewilderedly at Draco. Next to him, Scorpius sighed exasperatedly. "Father, I do not mind you coming to visit for the New Year's but could you please refrain from making my classmates cry?"

"It is not my fault your peers have the spines of snakes. For all the enviable qualities attributed to the snake, Scorpius," said Draco, thumb slipping over the Slytherin insignia embossed into his goblet, "its backbone is not one of them."

It was rare for parents to visit their children at Hogwarts during the Christmas-New Year break as it was so much easier for them to come home. But Astoria was touring Italy with Julio Whatshisface and Draco missed his son. If only Scorpius would consent to a private meal in his guest quarters. Then, Draco wouldn't have to deal with the ignorance all around the Great Hall.

Draco was very grateful that Professor Longbottom, the Herbology professor, Hero of the Prophecy, Champion of the Wizarding World, has taken leave to spend the holidays with his family. According to Scorpius, people loved to fawn over him and request oral anecdotes of his heroism during his schooling days. If that happened in his presence, Draco might've punched Longbottom square in the face. Forget jinxes and curses. Draco wanted to feel Longbottom's face bruising under his fist.

It was supposed to be Potter wearing those shoes.

Potter hated celebrity. He took everything he achieved with a 'so what? attitude. So he rescued his friends and classmates on a yearly basis since he was 11. So he successfully trained a group of teenagers to fight in preparation for one of the biggest wars in Wizarding history. So he received offers from three major league Quidditch teams to be their Seeker. So he was the best Auror in his department. So he saved the Wizarding World. So what?

Potter didn't care about all that. He would defend his privacy with such a vengeance that the papers could only get photos of him when he allowed it.

Longbottom was no Potter. That much was evident by the large portrait of him hanging in the corridor in Gryffindor Tower. In it, Longbottom beamed, asked how your day was, and disclosed that it was at this very spot that he fought the last duel with Voldemort.

"Stuff it," was what Draco said when the portrait tried speaking to him. His response had surprised a couple of second-year Gryffindors coming out of the common room. The portrait of Longbottom himself had been at a loss for words.

Scorpius sighed again. "Father, I understand that you are upset at having been on the losing side of the war, but must you show your contempt for Professor Longbottom so blatantly? It looks bad."

Draco made a face. "Don't tell me you like the git."

"Yeah, right," snorted Scorpius. "He struts around like he owns the place and that we're all indebted to him. He's a prat."

"I used to do that when I was a student here."

"You must have been annoying."

"I probably was," said Draco. Scorpius looked at him in surprise. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty, son. Tell you something, though. Longbottom used to be so useless that he got strung up by Cornish pixies in Defense Against the Dark Arts." Scorpius stifled a snort. "In his first year, his granny had to send him a Remembrall because he kept forgetting stuff. But it was redundant because he could never remember what he forgot." Scorpius tried his best to keep in the silly grin spreading across his face. "I always had Potions with him, so when I say that he melted or destroyed about six cauldrons during his schooling years, you can be sure that it's true." Scorpius hazarded a quick glance at his father, who smirked as he delivered the killing blow. "Before the Yule Ball, someone caught him ballroom dancing. By himself."

The large hall echoed with Scorpius' hysterical laughter. Everyone else at the Slytherin table stared, dumfounded, as Scorpius laughed so hard he slapped the table. Draco's smirk became smug.

After a few minutes and an assurance that he hasn't gone bonkers, Scorpius got himself under control and wiped tears from his own eyes. "Alright, then how did he go from _that _to defeating the greatest dark wizard of all time?"

Draco glowered. "He didn't."

"Father, what are you saying?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "Humour me for a bit, son. What are the ridiculous titles Longbottom's been given?"

Scorpius raised a dubious eyebrow. "I don't remember them all." Draco gave him an encouraging gesture. "Alright then... there's the Chosen One. And Hero of the Prophecy, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Champion of Wizarding Britain, the New Hope..." Scorpius trailed off at the disgusted look of disbelief on Draco's face.

Draco shook his head. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself. What about the Boy Who Lived?"

"Who's that?"

Draco's eyes softened. That one was still Potter's then. "That's the title of the man who killed Voldemort and saved us all."

Scorpius frowned. "If Professor Longbottom wasn't the one, they why does everyone say he is?"

"Because they're idiots."

Scorpius looked at his father suspiciously. "Then what happened to the Boy Who Lived? Why doesn't he come forward and admit the truth?"

"Because he's a prat who doesn't like glory."

"Sorry, I'm having a hard time believing that such a person exists."

"I felt that too growing up next to him," admitted Draco with a small smile.

"So where is he now?"

Draco fell silent. He could feel Scorpius' hard eyes on him and that expression said that he didn't believe Draco. He probably thought Draco was being ridiculous for refuting what the rest of the world believed. Draco felt a huge sadness overcome him at his son's doubt.

Draco's fingers dug hard into the goblet. _For whom did you save the world if not them? And if so, what was the point if they don't remember you?_

"That's what I'm going to find out."

The huge bell hanging at the front of the hall suddenly started clanging, sending a ruckus of cacophonous noise through the room. People sprung up from their seats and congratulated one another, hugging, cheering and shaking hands. Draco knocked his goblet against Scorpius' and held it up. "Happy New Year, son."

"Happy New Year, father," replied Scorpius, who drank before getting up to wish his friends.

Draco drank as well and shivered when the back of his neck prickled with a strange warmth. He turned to the right and saw the professors at the high table. Draco's eyes were drawn to Severus Snape, whom Draco had been surprised, at first, to find alive. The shock had passed after seeing him several times in the hallway. Of course Draco questioned why his godfather was still alive. Alive and looking rather well with a redheaded Muggle Studies professor as his wife to boot. It added to the mystery no one seemed to see.

But It was New Year's night and Draco was tired and he was glad to see his godfather happy. He wished he could say that much for himself. "Cheers to being happy," he murmured, raising his goblet to no one in particular, "and a happy new year."

_"Happy New Year to you too, Drake."_

Draco's eyes widened. The dark-haired man sitting next to him laughed and knocked shoulders with him, his round-framed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he did so; bright green eyes sparkling with mirth.

Draco's mouth became dry.

"Harry?"

X

It was an illusion. No, it was a memory.

Exactly a year ago.

XX

By happenstance, Draco bumped into Potter at a pub in New Orleans during New Year's Eve. Draco had slipped out of a party at a nearby hotel and Potter was in town for an Auror's conference. Or so he claimed.

"This is the first time I've not spent New Year's with my family since I got engaged," Potter revealed. Draco hummed along dispiritedly, not bothering to mention that his 'family' was just next door but that he has no wish to return to her before midnight. He and Astoria had taken separate rooms. He was only glad he hadn't brought Scorpius along.

"Have you been well?"

Draco looked up. That was a loaded question if Draco wanted to answer seriously. Usually, he wouldn't. But this was Potter. Draco crossed his arms and buried his face into them. "What do you want me to say?"

Potter smiled and ordered two lagers for them. It was a Muggle pub, after all.

"What about you?" asked Draco. "I can only imagine that everything's perfect with you."

Potter chuckled, "One day, you'll believe me when I say that I'm not as perfect as you think."

_You're as perfect as they get._

Potter smiled sheepishly and gripped his neck. "Recently, I've been getting this strange feeling that something bad is going to happen. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm just being paranoid. My hypersensitive Auror senses flaring up and all that. But I can't get rid of the feeling that ... that I'm on the edge of a cliff, and the winds are blowing, and I'm about to fall off. I just don't know when."

Draco reached out an uncertain hand, unsure of whether it was okay to give Potter a sympathetic grip on the shoulder. It was what Draco would do with any friend. But was Potter a friend? The last time they met, they were acquaintances at best. With this conversation hanging between them, Draco wasn't sure anymore.

Thankfully, that was when the lagers came. It wasn't as bad as Draco thought it would be. He drank it all. After a while, he managed to say, "Did you tell anyone else?"

"'Anyone else worries too much," laughed Potter. "Every time I get so much as a headache, they think Voldemort is coming back to haunt us."

Draco laughed.

It surprised Potter so much he grinned. "Hey, you shouldn't laugh so easily. There were seven pieces of his soul. If seven Voldemorts come to haunt me, it's no laughing matter."

"You could make it a horror ride at a theme park. Voldemorts jumping out of a dark corner and yelling curses. You'd make a fortune."

"Only you would find that funny."

"Come on, that must make you laugh," smirked Draco.

"A little," admitted Potter.

Draco leant in a little to the side so he could get a better look at Potter. He could still remember the first time they met. Draco had thought he was all limbs and large glasses. He had thought that Potter needed clothes that fit him better.

Instead, Potter made those clothes fit him. Quidditch and Auror training filled him out. Attractive was what he was. Was what he always have been. No matter what Potter said or didn't say, did or didn't do, it was hard to ignore him.

Potter touched his shoulder. Draco flinched. "Are you okay?" asked Potter. "You were zoning out on me."

A gaggle of teenagers entered. They were loud and drunk, and one of them was Potter's godson. Draco recognised him from the pictures. The Daily Prophet once did an extensive pullout double-page spread on Potter and his family. Teddy Lupin had been included in that report.

The boy looked much younger in the photo; neater and more innocent. The boy shuffling a few feet away from him had long, unmanageable hair and a girl hanging off his arm with a besotted expression on her face. The group of people surrounding him looked like an entourage. Draco was not impressed.

"Don't look at him." Potter stared into his drink in such a fixated manner that one would think that he was casting a spell on it. But Draco knew he was merely keeping his head down.

"Aren't you going to say hello? He is a member of _Casa Potter_, is he not?" asked Draco curiously.

"Yes, but if he spots me here, he's going to show me off like a prize puppy and make his famous godfather buy more drinks for them," muttered Potter.

Draco's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "What is he doing here anyway?"

"Holiday, I suppose. He spends his Christmas break with his posse nowadays."

Draco looked the other way when Teddy walked past them. There was once a time where Draco would've walked the same way Teddy Lupin walked; nose high and pockets full. But ever since the disaster that was the aftermath of the war, he began to loathe the spotlight. His family had been dragged through so much bad press that Draco had shunned limelight ever since. In surviving the war, he had become more ... Potter-like. Draco nearly cackled blackly at the revelation.

Draco drummed his fingers on the tabletop and smirked lazily. "Truly unexpected. I thought everyone under your wing would become a goody-two-shoes."

"We can't get them all," said Potter mirthfully. "Teddy isn't fond of taking the easy path. If he wants to discover who he is using this road, I'm more than happy to let him. Just as long as he doesn't pull me along." Draco raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "One time, the whole family was going on a trip to France. Teddy didn't like the seats we got on the train so he shouted at the top of his lungs that his godfather, Harry Potter, would like an upgrade please."

Draco released a bark of laughter. "At his age, I think I would've done the same. So, did you get the upgrade?"

Potter nodded. "Along with complimentary drinks from the bar and a half hour's delay because people kept coming up to me for autographs and photos."

"You really don't like any of it, do you?"

"I hate it."

The live band onstage stopped playing as the other patrons began the countdown. The bartender grinned as he wiped a glass. The dancers on the floor whooped with delighted anticipation. Teddy Lupin was already kissing his girlfriend. Ten. Nine. Eight.

"Do you think that trick would work here?" asked Draco mischievously.

Potter stopped chanting along and stared at him nervously. "What trick?"

Five. Four. Three.

Draco grinned and stood up. "HARRY POTTER WOULD LIKE A FREE LAGER PLEASE!"

Potter stared at him in horror. Teddy Lupin dislodged himself in dazed confusion. The rest of the patrons roared in anger and dismay at the ruined countdown.

"Shut up, you tosser!"

"Who the hell is Harry Potter?"

"Drunk! Go home!"

The huge pinata ball hanging above the dance floor exploded. Everyone broke out in celebration as it rained confetti. The band started up again with Auld Lang Syne as friends wished and hugged one another. Mobile phones beeped simultaneously with arriving New Year's greetings. Some couples who had come together began showing each other affection enthusiastically.

Draco sat down with an indifferent shrug. "Too bad," he offered his dumbstruck companion.

When Potter finally pulled himself together from the overwhelming feeling of alarm and disbelief, he laughed uproariously. Draco couldn't help but smile along. "Happy New Year, Potter."

Potter held up his lager and smiled fondly at Draco.

"Happy New Year to you too, Drake."

X

Just like Blaise said, the books Draco were looking for could be found in the Hogwarts library. It took a lot of persuading on his part to get Madam Pince to finally allow him to handle the ancient texts. Unfortunately, they didn't do him much good.

They explained much more about Magick, which was the Old Magic Blaise had referred to in their conversation a month earlier. But Blaise was also right when he said that no one could manipulate Old Magic according to his or her will.

Old Magic was like nature. It existed like energy and a concept. It had the power to change things according to some unknown will, which many have interpreted into religion. There was no way any individual wizard could have used this against Potter.

X

Godric's Hollow was silent in the long winter. The days continued to snow and people conjured fires indoors. There was a hush surrounding the village the morning Draco arrived with little more than the clothes on his back and a slip of paper containing a name and an address.

Dorea Potter lived in the street neighbouring the cottage her son had once called home. Her husband had passed away five years prior from a complicated case of pneumonia. She was the only surviving Potter who might know what was going on.

He trudged through the snow faithfully.

The house which he was looking for has two chimneys and sygils drawn around the borders of every window and door in chalk. There was a large all-seeing eye painted on the front door. Draco recalled seeing that symbol in his Divination textbook, but that felt a lifetime ago.

He walked up the unpaved walkway and knocked. There was no answer.

He tried looking through the windows. He couldn't see Dorea Potter, but he spotted memorabilia spreading across decades scattered across various surfaces. Photos of a baby James Potter on the mantelpiece, a frayed knitted replica of the family crest hanging over the fireplace, a Hogwarts Quidditch cup sitting on the coffee table and pictures of James and his wife, Lily everywhere else. Draco nearly choked when he spotted a moving photo of Lily cradling a newborn Harry sitting by the windowsill.

He backed away.

"If you're looking for the old lady, she's at the cemetery." It was a neighbour. She smiled at Draco kindly and pointed down a road. "Just walk along this path and take the first right."

Draco nodded his thanks and plodded away.

Dorea Potter was ancient. White curly hair curtained her small face in a wild manner and her eyes were so deep-set they looked forever shadowed. There was a sense of sadness about her, which Draco liked immediately because for the first time since the world stopped making sense, he felt like he was with like kind.

She started speaking before he even approached her. "White day, isn't it?"

The tombstones were all covered in snow. The smaller ones were buried so completely you could trip over them if you weren't careful. Draco himself nearly fell over one when he tried to get closer.

Dorea Potter smiled in the way some geriatrics did. It made it look like she knew something. Drace certainly hoped she did.

"These are their graves, you know," said Dorea, gesturing at the twin mounds of snow.

Draco pointed his wand at them and melted away the ice. His glance turned baleful at the sight of the names carved into granite. JAMES POTTER and LILY POTTER. "But they're still alive."

Dorea shook her head slowly. "I gather you have seen them." Draco said nothing. "Do you think that any part of them has remained intact after Voldemort was done with them? No. They are dead."

"What did he do to them?"

"He cast the Cruciatus on the two of them. But when they refused to tell him anything about the Order or join his side, he cast the spell on their son as well."

Draco's lips turned white. He had to jam his hands deep into his pockets to stop himself from reacting violently, to remind himself that none of this was real. None of this was true. He swallowed the bile in his throat and asked, "Where is Harry's tombstone then?"

"He doesn't have one. The child wasn't buried and everyone had been too shocked at what happened to James and Lily to arrange a funeral for a baby who did not spend much time in this world."

Not even a grave. This was how the world treated its saviour.

Draco's eyes burned.

The old woman turned towards him, questions in her old, wrinkled face. "But that is not why you have sought me out. You have some other concern on your mind. A matter which you thought that, I, of all people, could shed light on."

Draco frowned deeply. "Are you a Seer?"

"I have Seen a few times in my life," replied Dorea. "But you may excuse my assumptions for conjecture, if you wish."

"No, you're right," said Draco. "There is something I want to ask you. I have reason to believe that not everything happened according to what you said the night Voldemort attacked James and Lily Potter. What I wanted to ask is if there was a possibility - even the slightest of the barest one - that the baby could have survived the attack."

Dorea's gaze softened and again, Draco detected overwhelming sadness. "Why are you so concerned with this matter, child? You are a Malfoy, aren't you? You are the enemy."

"I'm not," said Draco, surprising himself with the heat in his voice. But he was telling the truth. He wasn't the enemy. The last year had been great. May DayMay Day dinner at Potter's place, weekly nights at the Hog's Head, some Quidditch on their afternoons off, coming up with silly disguises so no one could recognise Potter while they enjoyed a cuppa in Hogsmeade.

It was like their childhood rivalry never happened. It was like they were best friends. The first one Draco has ever had.

Draco clapped the back of his neck and looked at the old woman beseechingly. She sighed, looking more aged if that was possible. "I'm sorry. There was no funeral, but there had been a body. When we found Lily, she was screaming and gripping her baby so hard, he bled. But Harry was already dead. It is likely that my son and his wife broke when they saw their son murdered."

The breath he exhaled clung to the chill in a white mist. He wanted to say something. But his throat has closed up and despair was clutching at the bottom of his heart.

"I am sorry," she said again. "I am very, very sorry."

X

Draco opened the door to the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and without warning, got the air knocked out of him by a toddler slamming round his middle.

"Rebecca!" George Weasley came running from the back room, hat tipped clumsily to one side and mustard smeared over his upper lip. He took the little girl by her arm and pulled her to his side with a grin. "Sorry 'bout that, Malfoy. She's always running away from me whenever she can."

"I can't imagine why," said Draco in a dry voice even as he smiled at the girl, who was now blushing red and hiding behind her father's legs. He only saw that George was gaping at him when he noticed the sudden silence.

"Fred! Come look see! Malfoy is smiling at my child!"

Draco nearly had a heart attack when Fred Weasley emerged from the back room, looking as healthy as the next wizard and very much alive.

Draco stumbled backwards, hands grappling for a hold and finding one on of the counters. It had been the same when he first saw Severus. For fIfteen years, he lived with the knowledge that these people were dead. For them to walk back into his life as if death has just been an evening stroll made his head and heart reel.

"Will wonders never cease?" said Fred with a laugh. He wiped his hands on the front of his robes and stuck out a hand. "It's been a long time, Malfoy. What brings you to our humble establishment?"

Wizard Wheezes was by no means a humble establishment. They have outlets all over the country.

"I thought I'd drop by for a visit," said Draco, pointedly looking away from Fred.

In the world he knew, Draco has a tentative friendship with George. The George Weasley he knew was married with one son and one daughter and was the head of a successful business. But he was never the same after Fred's death.

George lifted an eyebrow. "Drop by for a visit? A bit out of habit for you, innit?"

They used to have drinks together once a month. Draco enjoyed hearing George brainstorm aloud for new gag ideas. Also, George never faulted Draco for his actions ("You got stuck in an unfortunate situation with that family of yours, mate.") and Draco tried to empathise with George's loss. Ironic that now when Draco felt loss most keenly, George no longer had any.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right," said Draco, his words void of inflection. He turned to leave.

"Malfoy, hang on," said George.

"Lupin said to ask if we saw you. Are you going to Mirabella's birthday party this weekend?" said Fred.

Draco was confused. "Mirabella?"

"Yeah. Lupin and Tonks' baby girl. You should remember the name of your niece, at least," said Fred.

There was no Mirabella. There was only Teddy Lupin, whose parents died in the war. "Lupin and Nymphadora are still alive, then?"

"Can you believe this guy?" said Fred with a caustic laugh. "Fifteen years since the war and he still holds grudges! Regardless, Tonks is your cousin, you know."

How many more people were 'not dead'?

Draco's fingers tightened at the door jamb. "I take my leave. Please forgive the intrusion."

Why was the world that killed Potter bringing back so many from the dead?

XX

Ireland won. For miles around, jubilant witches and wizards were dancing in their green shamrocks and shooting tiny fireworks into the sky. In the distance, Draco even saw a tent fly high into the sky with one elderly wizard clinging onto the tarp for dear life.

On their front lawn, which came with the six-bedroom, three-toilet tent, the Weasley children were gleefully trying to set James Potter Junior on fire while Albus watched amusedly by the sidelines.

At first, Draco worried for his son. Slytherins have a long history of not getting along with Gryffindors. Even more so between the Malfoys and the Weasley-Potter combination. Now, he smiled as Scorpius himself managed to light a small fire at the tail of James' cloak while absentmindedly fighting off the fledgling affections of one Rose Weasley.

Potter weaved in and out of the happy, drunk crowd with ease despite the heavy pail of water he has in each hand. Granger said that it was fine to use magic on their campsite but Potter had insisted on doing it the 'old-fashioned' way. He sidestepped the children, put out the fire with a cock of his head, and set down the pails in front of the tent next to Draco.

"Where's Ron and 'Mione?" he asked.

"Taking a stroll about the woods," answered Draco.

"Ginny?"

"Asleep."

"Already?" said Potter in surprise. An explosion went off behind him. A teenaged wizard in the opposite tent - the tips of his hair singed and his skin now charcoal black - threw back his head and laughed. Potter smiled bemusedly. "I can't believe she can sleep through all this. So, what did you think of the game?"

"It had a lousy start," said Draco.

Potter pulled a face. "Yeah, I know. I couldn't believe Montgomery would drop the Quaffle like that. The Irish had really clumsy passes at the beginning too."

Draco nodded. "It was almost painful to watch, but things definitely picked up after the Scots' second goal. Did you see Laurie's sharp turn before he smacked the Quaffle with his broom-tail?" Potter gave an appreciative low whistle. Draco smirked in agreement. "A work of art."

"The Scots make a pretty good team but I still think it's too bad Bulgaria lost out so early at the qualifying rounds. They have a good line-up this year."

"They're rubbish," deadpanned Draco.

"No, they're not," Potter retorted hotly. "Chervenkov has more Quaffle goals than any other player in the league!"

"Quaffle goals don't mean squat if the other team gets the Snitch. They never should have let Krum go, bad leg or no bad leg."

"Can't fight you on that one. Quidditch is played in the air. Does it really matter if your leg is out of commission?" Potter sighed and slumped against the side of the tent. Had it not been a magical tent, he would've fallen through but this tarp had the sturdiness of a wall. "I'm really glad you came with us, Drake."

Draco looked at Potter bewilderedly at the apparent non-sequiter. "Yes, well ... there's no way I'm missing the World Cup, is there? And - and Scorpius needs more friends. He sticks to himself far too much. I do not object having time for yourself but I'd much prefer he have more friends who can make him laugh."

"I understand. Albus was quite the loner too at first. But I think your boy will be just fine," said Potter, watching Scorpius scream when Albus snatched his scarf and made off with it. "He strikes me as the type who will become mature beyond his years."

"Not like his father then," chuckled Draco depreciatingly.

"On the contrary. He reminds me of his father a lot. Not the git he sometimes pretends to be, but how he acts when he thinks no one is looking." Draco raised a confused eyebrow. Potter grinned and revealed, "I have an invisibility cloak."

Draco flushed a deep red. "You filthy pervert."

Potter smiled. "I needed to make sure you weren't off doing more dastardly deeds."

"Was that why I kept bumping into you in our seventh-year?"

Albus tripped over his own feet. Potter quickly ran over to make sure his son was okay. Draco observed them quietly, his breath misting when he exhaled slowly.

Draco pulled his cloak tighter around himself as Ginny Potter stepped out of the tent, standing in the same spot her husband earlier occupied. There was still sleep in her half-lidded eyes. She rubbed her arms to ward the cold away. They both smiled when Harry bent down to kiss Albus' forehead despite the boy's protests.

"You should keep your distance."

Her voice was so sharp in the silence that previously hung between them that Draco thought he might've imagined it. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"From Harry. If you care about him, you should stay away," said Ginny, pressing her fingertips to her lips.

Outwardly, Draco frowned. But inside, he started to sweat. "What are you implying Ginevra? I shouldn't have to tell you that your marriage is safe from my meddling."

Ginny blinked owlishly at him. "That wasn't what I meant at all. I wasn't trying to fault you for anything. Except, perhaps, starting to love my husband."

Draco pulled the most exaggerated face he could muster. "I don't love him."

"It's great if you don't. But that's not what I'm getting at here. The problem with Harry is that the more he loves you, the less he's likely to tell you if something is bothering him. He thinks he's being kind and protecting you, but he's not. While it's nice knowing that he cares for you, it hurts being left in the dark." Ginny grimaced. "I hope that doesn't happen to you." She retreated indoors without another word.

Draco bit his lip. He's not sure what the missus thought was going on between him and Potter. Sure, they've gotten a lot closer recently. But that's because Draco, as Potter put it, 'has become less of a prat'. That, and Potter was just too nice. Draco's never truly understood the concept of sincere friendship and if he was a little fond of Potter for introducing it to him, was that wrong?

An impulse to sneeze suddenly overcame him. Draco doubled over in reflex and tried his best to stifle the urge. He staggered forward when a weight was suddenly dropped over his shoulders. Draco quickly grabbed the proffered outer cloak to keep it from falling and stared at Potter. "Don't you need this?"

Potter shook his head. "It's not that chilly for me." He clapped Draco on the shoulder with a grin. "Come on, I see Ron and 'Mione heading towards us. Let's see if they're up for a pint."

X

James Potter slept soundly in his bed. For a man who has lost grip on reality, he has many lines worrying his face.

Draco has heard far too often that to live in a different reality would be bliss. So what concerned this man? Did he know about his missing progeny? Could he have guessed the reason for Draco's frequent visits?

James looked far too much like Harry. Everything down to the brows that were constantly furrowed. Even after the war, Harry Potter felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He bore the weight of the dead - unnecessarily, in many opinions - and it bowed his brows.

Draco had liked to mock it. "Those will age you, Potter. They will make you look like a grandfather before your time." Sometimes, Potter would laugh and the bow lifted temporarily. Draco wondered when he had grown to love these moments. These quiet moments when it was just the two of them slowing down while the world around them sped.

All those memories Draco put in a Pensieve. One of his favourites was the memory of Potter's birthday celebration. It had been held at his home in Godric's Hollow. Very few people had been invited.

There had been Weasley and his bushy-haired wife because they were Potter's best friends, the Weaslette because she was the missus, Hagrid because he was Potter's oldest friend, and Draco, because Potter loved him.

Draco straightened in his seat when Lily entered the ward, escorted by the medi-wizard. She watched everything, head twitching to the left and right, mouth moving too quickly to form words.

The medi-wizard shot a tentative smile at Draco as she coaxed LIly back to her bed. Draco stood up and reached for her arm, intending to help. But Lily stilled suddenly and grabbed Draco's cheek in a hard, painful grip.

Draco yelped and tried to wrench out of her grasp. He twisted until she let go, leaving deep, crescent imprints amidst a reddening splotch on the side of his face. Had he not been so tired, Draco would've thrown a fit.

"Harry must have loved you a lot."

Draco's gaze snapped towards her. "What do you mean by that?"

"Harry... Harry... " Lily started to wail. She beat her hands on her legs and knocked the back of her hand into the headboard with growing intensity. The medi-wizard drew out her wand and muttered a long spell that slowly robbed Lily of her energy and put her to sleep.

She then tucked her wand back into the belt of her white robe and sighed, "Poor woman will never heal. Harry was her son, by the way. He died as a baby so don't pay her words any mind."

Exhausted, Draco nodded and rubbed at his neck. He wanted to believe that maybe Lily knew something but even if that were the case, extracting information from her would be next to impossible. Draco gathered his cloak and left the ward without any intention of returning.

X

Though it pained him, Draco didn't stop looking for clues.

He tried looking at the problem from different angles.

Maybe he'd been wrong in presuming that this was the work of one wizard. If several wizards compounded their power, perhaps they could - no, there was so such spell. All the texts said that Old Magic was unbendable to anyone's will.

And if Blaise's words all those months ago were to be believed, Potter was undoubted one of the 'blessed' people. One of the wizards loved by Old Magic. Potter's magical ability was average but he could draw insurmountable amounts of power whenever his life was endangered. Following that tangent, Draco did more research on people with this ability.

Albus Dumbledore was one such person. And apparently, so was, Neville Longbottom.

There was nothing for it. After months and months of burning newspapers and scoffing at his name, Draco has to go and talk to Neville Longbottom.

The Christmas holidays were coming to an end. Soon Professor Longbottom would return from his vacation. Snape came to visit Draco, voicing his worries over Draco's childhood spats with Longbottom becoming an issue during their discussion.

"Give me more credit, Severus," said Draco. "I've grown plenty since those days."

"Perhaps too much." Draco was unused to the gentle tone in Severus' voice. Marriage has done the older man worlds of good. "I have never seen you look so weary of the world, Draco. Not even when you had to kill Dumbledore in your sixth year. What is troubling you?"

Draco pursed his lips. "That is none of your concern."

"I'm worried for you," said Severus.

Draco laughed humourlessly. "So am I."

One day before Longbottom was slotted to return to the castle, James Potter fell to his death. He had snuck out of the ward and jumped off the roof of St. Mungo's. No one had seen him do it. His was a silent and invisible death.

XX

Two weeks before the school semester started, Draco invited the Potters and Weasleys over for dinner at the manor. Astoria was vehemently against it but Draco has long tired of her opinion, seeing as hardly anything could coax her to be agreeable nowadays. Draco was beginning to forget why he still kept her around when divorce was so popular and his progeny already secured.

Still, she stood by his side when their guests arrived at the front door, smiling coldly at all the Half-bloods running over her carpet.

"Scorpius!" said Albus when he spotted the young boy coming down the stairs. "You grew!"

Scorpius had a growth spurt a few weeks back and was a good three inches taller. Albus scowled at the new disparity in height and hit the other boy in the arm. Draco saw Astoria open her mouth in outrage. But before she could say anything, Scorpius grabbed Albus in a headlock and laughed maniacally. "So what're you going to do about it, shorty?"

Rose ran towards them, screaming that they should stop being so rough with one another while James draped himself over the chaise, yawning from a long day.

"A television comedy, our children," said Weasley with a dry smile.

"Good to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy," said Granger, smiling at Astoria. Astoria gave her the same cold smile and retreated to the dining room under the pretense of making sure things were ready. Granger turned to Draco. "She seems nice."

"Oh, Granger, you really don't have to be so polite," said Draco.

He invited them to have a seat. Potter nudged his son's legs off the chaise to make room. When Draco summoned his house-elf for drinks, he caught Granger shooting him a look. "I give him vacation days! Once every week to see his lady friend!" he said.

Potter and Weasley roared with laughter; the bastards.

Halfway through dinner, Astoria stood up, saying that she suddenly remembered a matter she had to attend to urgently. Draco glared at her. She met his gaze coolly. She wasn't even going to pretend that she hadn't just made an appointment with her new lover five minutes ago because she couldn't bear another minute with them.

Draco quickly bade her goodbye and made another dent in the door post when he punched it. He returned to the dining room with a smile slapped on.

Then, Rose accidentally upset the tureen, which led her into a hilarious battle of apologies with the house elf.

Draco didn't remember ever laughing so hard. Potter grinned fondly, casually putting an arm around his wife. Ginny leaned into him and Draco lost a bit of his smile.

What was it like having a reliable spouse? he wondered. What was it like having a decade with one another and still feeling love when the other stepped into the room?

When the night ended, Potter pressed a kiss to Ginny's temple and sent her off with the children at the door. Draco pretended not to see it. He pretended to be busy rearranging the documents they needed on the coffee table because now that dinner was over, it was time to do work. Potter had enlisted his help in figuring out the latest strain of poisons used by a group of terrorists up north and Draco planned on doing his best.

He was re-reading the testimony of the latest victim when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Potter held out a glass of Firewhisky. "A little bit early for that, don't you think?" said Draco. Nevertheless, he took the glass.

"We're going to be working through the night. You'll need it." Potter took the seat next to him and sighed. "Thanks for tonight, Drake."

"It's no problem. It's not like I had any hand in making the food or setting the table, which I'm sure is customary in your household," said Draco absentmindedly as he scanned through the words. He caught a particular passage that seemed strange and was about to add it to his notes when Potter spoke up again.

"Why don't you take credit where credit is due once in a while?"

This made Draco look up. "A bit thick coming from you, isn't it?"

Potter rubbed the back of his neck. "I've got - inferiority issues," he said with a nervous laugh. "'Mione says it probably comes from growing up in a cupboard. Apparently it does wonders for deep-seated psychological issues."

Draco shook his head. "How can you say that with a laugh?"

"It's an idiosyncrasy that comes with being an Auror. After a while, you just have to learn to laugh at the bad stuff, or you'll go mad."

"Isn't that how some psychopaths start out?" Draco teased good-naturedly.

"Who says I'm not one already?" Potter threw back.

Draco did a double-take. "Come again?"

Potter smiled, chagrined. "Who says I'm not already crazy?"

Draco could laugh it off. Act like Potter was pulling his leg again. But there was no mistaking the air that plunged the moment Potter brought it up. Potter wasn't laughing. He meant those words. Draco sat up straight. "Where is this coming from?"

Potter was silent for awhile, his gaze drawn away to the fire. Light reflected off his glasses, and made his expression unreadable. When he finally said something, his voice was laced with such weariness it made Draco's heart clench. "Sometimes, I still see the people who died in the war. I see their faces amongst the crowd out of the corner of my eye, and for a while, I forget that they're gone. But after that, I can't stop thinking about them for days. During those times, I wonder if I should've died with them. Since the war ended, the world feels so - out of place for me."

Draco felt a lump form in his throat and he's lost some feeling in his fingers from digging them so hard into his palms. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Harry Potter was the greatest wizarding hero of all time. He should be glorifying in that knowledge. He was so much more than he gave himself credit for. Draco wished he could convey that to him. If only there was some reasonable way to convey those feelings to him.

Instead, Draco threw back his Firewhisky faster than was advisable and draped himself over the back of the chaise. "You're right, Potter. You _are_ crazy. You always have been. But I wouldn't have you any other way."

Potter chuckled lightly and brushed Draco's arm in a fond gesture. "Do you think it would've been different if we'd become friends earlier, Drake?"

The heavy mood has lifted slightly but Potter was strangely focused on him and in the air, Draco sensed an unvoiced question. A double meaning to Potter's words.

Draco could guess the second meaning, but he pretended not to. "Don't be stupid," he said airily. "Thinking about the past and asking 'what if's doesn't solve anything. You know, your wife warned me about you. Said you would be bad for my health."

Potter's eyes went round. "Ginny did?"

"Yes, and thank goodness for that. Now come on. You're here to work, aren't you?"

The two of them worked through the night and fell asleep in their seats just before dawn. Draco woke up first because he slept in a bad position and his neck was killing him. Potter was completely sprawled over the table, drool staining the parchment trapped under his cheek. A grown man with children should not be able to look this adorable.

Draco wiped his face tiredly and thought back about last night. He didn't think that Potter understood how dangerous last night was; how close Draco had been to losing it. The question that Potter flung out so casually; the same question that Draco never dared ask himself.

_"Do you think it would've been different if we'd become friends earlier?"_

How Draco wished it were so. He had never cursed himself so much for anything else. He wished so hard that it hadn't taken him twenty years to realise it. At the same time, he wished he had never found out because there was nothing he could do about it.

So he bent over and shook Potter awake.

When Potter yawned, stretching languorously, and bade him a good morning with a lazy smile, Draco ignored the tears welling up behind his eyes and asked if he wanted breakfast.

X

Longbottom was different than Draco remembered him. He supposed having the world worship your every step changed the way you walked, talked and even, smiled. As it were, every change Draco could spot in Longbottom made him want to smack the man's face. Or at least hex him into Tuesday.

They met in Longbottom's office, next to Greenhouse Three. Longbottom liked to be near to his precious plants. Draco accepted the proffered cup of tea and took a sip -

"Like it? I got the recipe from Luna's dad," said Longbottom.

- and promptly spat it back out. "It's wonderful. Thanks."

"I was rather surprised to see you here, Malfoy. You and I haven't spoken in years."

"Why do you think that is?" said Draco drily. But Longbottom surprised him with his answer.

"I don't know. I always thought we got along well considering we were in different Houses and opposing sides in the war."

Draco gaped. "Did you get knocked in the head or something? I practically tortured you!"

"But you regretted it, didn't you?" said Longbottom. He took a long sip from his cup and actually smiled. Impossible as it was, maybe Longbottom actually liked this mud-tasting tea. He continued, "You know, I was okay with thinking that you were just some brat following his Death Eater father. You sure acted like it."

"What made you change your mind?" said Draco, loosening his collar. His neck felt too warm.

"You're going to think I'm crazy."

"I already think you're crazy. Get on with it."

"It was a voice." Longbottom tapped his temple with one finger. "Up here. It talked to me about Voldemort, my magic, and strangely enough, about you. At first, Dumbledore thought it was Voldemort trying to get into my head. He even had Snape try to teach me Legilimency. But the voice never persuaded me to do anything bad. In fact, it helped me loads. It taught me how to master difficult wand-work and defense spells no one thought to teach me. It warned me about the stuff Voldemort was capable of and even saved me from falling into some of his traps. Actually, if I hadn't listened to that voice, Cedric Diggory would probably have died during the Triwizard Tournament. Can you imagine the tragedy that would've been?"

"I understood that the voice told me all that to help me," said Longbottom, "thought I never got why it was so insistent on me not hating you. It told me that you were a good person who was just misguided. That if I tried, I would actually find a good friend in you. The voice has never lead me astray so far, so I decided to trust it."

Draco's heart was racing. This was the biggest lead he's had so far. Longbottom's statement was proof that Old Magic may have had a part in Potter's disappearance. The voice was probably a manifestation of it. If Longbottom still could hear the voice, Draco could ask it about Potter. He swallowed. "Have you ever conversed with that voice? Could you ask it questions?"

"Of course. It didn't always answer my questions but it always did its best to help. But I haven't heard it in a while. Honestly, I sort of miss having it in my head."

Draco felt his heart sink. To have found a clue at last only to discover that it was useless. Longbottom had been his last avenue of information.

Maybe it was time to raise the white flag.

As if sensing Draco's deflation, Longbottom frowned in concern. "Malfoy, you alright?"

Draco shook his head. "Thanks for seeing me, Longbottom. I'll take my leave now."

"Malfoy, wait."

"What?"

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about too. A few months ago, Hermione said you went nuts in your shop. She said you mentioned babysitting her children, being friends with her and knowing someone called Harry Potter."

"I know, I know. You've never heard of Harry Potter, right? He doesn't exist, right?" said Draco, tiredly parroting the words he has heard so many times over the past months, hearing them no longer clenched his heart.

"That wasn't what I was going to say at all. It's just..." Longbottom trailed off uncertainly. "I'm not sure if this has anything to do with the Potters, but the voice I told you about, it said that its name was Harry."

X

Truth be told, Draco was surprised he was invited to the funeral. He has only seen James Potter a few times, none of them during which Mr. Potter actually recognised him or knew he was there. But Dorea Potter sent him the invitation and insisted that he come. After the strange revelation from yesterday, Draco thought it wise to leave the castle for a bit.

Draco still didn't know what to make of Longbottom's confession. Was it really Harry, whose voice Longbottom heard all these years battling Voldemort? If so, how did Harry become part of Old Magic? It was impossible.

Old Magic was an intangible concept. Some wizards didn't even believe in its existence. How was it possible for a man, no matter how extraordinary, to be able to be part of a force so powerful and ancient it was said to be the cornerstone of all human magic?

Draco pushed those thoughts aside as he entered Godric's Hollow, head bent low to avoid the brunt of the wind and a charm cast over his ears to keep them warm. When he arrived at the cemetery, there were wizards still removing earth from the grave site. He must be early then. Draco made for Dorea's cottage.

Although many have offered better grave sites for James' body, Dorea insisted on using the one she had prepared all those years ago. "No matter how pretty you house them, the dead are still dead," she'd said.

Not for the first time, Draco thought that Dorea was a strong woman.

Dorea met him at the door of her cottage and showed him into her living room. "I'll be waiting for the other guests in the garden," she said.

Draco glanced around at the small living room. He took in the details of the paraphernalia he could only see through a frosty window the last time. He spent a particularly long time in front of a moving photo of the three Potters, sitting on the mantelpiece.

Baby Harry was struggling in his mother's arms. He looked as if he wanted to be put down so he could go off and do better things than pose in front of a camera. When Draco smiled at the childish display, baby Harry looked right at him from the past and lit up.

Draco drifted to the kitchen, where Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were conversing by the coffee-maker. They stopped when he entered and proceeded to stare at him in an unnerving manner when Draco reach over for the pot and poured himself a cup. Sirius turned his shoulders squarely towards him and pointed. "What are you doing here?"

Although Sirius was his first uncle, Draco's never had a proper meeting with him. Funny that the first words to come out of his uncle's mouth were ones that accused him. Draco took his cup and left the kitchen, ignoring his now spluttering uncle.

"Sirius, stop," said Lupin.

Draco regarded the ex-professor from the corner of his eye. His cousin, Nymphadora, married that man, which meant Lupin was family too. Lupin was now his ... cousin-in-law, or something. Draco began to laugh. He couldn't believe it took him this long to see the irony.

If their families had been on good terms, the Potters and Malfoys could have been close. The heir of the Black family was best friends with James Potter and Draco's first cousin was married to James Potter's _other_ best friend, Remus Lupin. If there was none of that stupid House rivalry or blood rivalry, it was possible that Draco and Harry would've been raised like brothers.

Had Harry known this? Was this why he was so kind to Draco?

Draco disguised his sob with a cough.

Sirius, misunderstanding his earlier laughter, grabbed the front of his collar and shook him. "What are you doing at my best friend's funeral, you little punk?"

"Sirius!" said Lupin. Lupin grabbed his friend's arm and forced him to release Draco.

Draco stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the low-lying coffee table and coughed more violently from the assault. Sirius was still furious at Draco for what he thought was impudence and threatened to throw him out. Lupin pushed him back towards the kitchen and sent Draco an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry about that Draco. Sirius is just ... trying to deal with James' death," Lupin finished lamely.

"If he was so concerned about Mr. Potter, why didn't he visit him at the hospital?"

"Draco?" said Lupin.

"I was there. I went to visit the Potters a few days before Mr. Potter jumped," said Draco. "I never saw his name on the visitors' log."

"What were you doing visiting the Potters?"

"That's none of your business," said Draco tonelessly. Then he remembered his visit to the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and Fred Weasley. "I hope Mirabella had a good birthday."

Lupin was slightly taken back. "Thank you. She did."

Lupin was supposed to be dead. Draco couldn't stop thinking about it, for some reason. His neck felt unnaturally warm again. He rubbed at it restlessly. Come to think of it, Sirius Black had died too. He remembered Harry mentioning it to him before. "It was my fault," he'd said during one sombre night. "I fell for Voldemort's trap."

All the people who had come back to life - Harry's friends, family - what was Old Magic's design in bringing them back? It didn't make sense.

Except that it did.

Draco jumped up, startling both Lupin and Sirius, and strode out into the garden where Dorea was bending low over her flowers. She straightened when she saw him coming but before she could say anything, Draco roared, "You Saw something, didn't you?"

Dorea's lips pulled downwards. The wrinkles on her old face grew more pronounced.

"The first time I met you, you were already waiting in the cemetery for me. You knew why I came to you. Which meant you knew what happened to Harry." Here, Draco's voice cracked, with anger, with unvoiced emotion. "You told me 'sorry'. But you never told me why. You were apologising for keeping it from me, weren't you?"

"Yes."

Sirius came forward. "Mrs. Potter, what is he talking about? Why is he here?"

"Be silent, Sirius," said Dorea, soft and stern. "This boy is here under my invitation. He is here because he has more than earned his right to the truth."

X

Dorea begged Draco to wait until after the funeral. But even after James Potter was put into the ground, Sirius refused to leave. Sirius wanted to know what Draco had to do with James Potter that he had the gall to nearly ruin the funeral and there was no moving him. Draco was quite sure that one word from Dorea would have sent Sirius running, but he didn't care either way. He just wanted to know the truth and he wanted to know it now.

Draco gripped the arms of his chair hard.

"I was a mess when Crabbe died in the war," he said when Dorea put a cup of tea in front of him. "I consoled myself saying that he wouldn't have died if he hadn't acted like a prat but the truth was, if I'd tried harder at stopping him, he'd still be with us. But Crabbe was just one person. I can't imagine how Harry must've felt losing so many people who were close to him. That was why he did it, wasn't it?"

Dorea nodded heavily. "I'm surprised you managed to figure it out for yourself. I had hoped that you would have given up after you met me. I suppose that was wishful thinking."

"What are you talking about? Who's Harry?" said Sirius.

"Harry is your godson, Sirius. He is James and Lily's son," said Dorea.

"But Harry died a long time ago. Why are you bringing him up now?" said Lupin.

Draco explained his situation to them. He told them the real story of what happened, how Harry survived, how the Lily Potter sacrificed herself, how Lupin bonded with Harry at Hogwarts and how Sirius got to know Harry after breaking out of Azkaban. Draco didn't know the details of those encounters and could only go off on what he remembered Harry telling him before. But as the expressions on Lupin and Sirius' faces grew darker and more desperate, Draco knew they understood the enormity of what they were hearing. Draco felt a slight relief that, at last, there was someone else who shared his pain.

"But that's impossible!" said Sirius. "Neville Longbottom is the one who survived the Dark Lord. He's the Chosen One."

"He's a replacement," said Draco. "I'm sure of that. What I still don't understand is how." Draco turned to look at Dorea.

Dorea wet her lips and throat with some tea before beginning. "I suppose you have come across the concept of Old Magic in your research." Draco nodded. "And I'm guessing you discovered that chief responsibility for Harry's disappearance lie with it."

"But how? Old Magic isn't an interfering force. It simply exists," said Lupin.

"Yes, it should have been impossible. But Harry is different. Harry is a wizard loved by Old Magic. That's why it's possible," said Dorea. "Wizards and witches who are loved by Old Magic are born with an incredible well of magic. The common misconception is that they are individuals who received assistance from the Old Magic whenever danger struck. In actual fact, the magic is all their own. Old Magic is energy and balance. That is why these 'blessed' people can only unleash their power during times of danger.

"Harry is especially powerful in this respect because not only is he descended from the Peverells, who were thought to be the most powerful wizarding bloodline, from his father's side of the family, he also accidentally received some power from Voldemort from the night Voldemort tried to kill him. Harry upset the power balance unlike any other wizard before him."

Draco gawked. He had not realised that Potter had come from such an illustrious family. In his diligent research, he had not thought to investigate Potter's genealogy. What a foolish oversight on his part! "But if that's the case, why couldn't it regulate Harry's magic as it had done for so long? Why take him now?"

At this, Dorea's eyes clouded up. "You know, Old Magic loved Dumbledore too. But Dumbledore managed to grow old and become part of this world. On the other hand, Death has touched Harry twice. Once on the night when Voldemort killed my son and his wife. The second time during the second war. Harry didn't tell you, did he? Voldemort actually managed to kill him that time. It was Dumbledore and Old Magic that brought him back. Since then, a part of Harry has always remained with it."

Draco froze.

He saw Harry's face again.

"_I can't get rid of the feeling that ... that I'm on the edge of a cliff, and the winds are blowing, and I'm about to fall off. I just don't know when._"

"_During those times, I wonder if I should've died with them. Since the war ended, the world feels so - out of place for me_."

Harry had sensed it, but no one had bothered to pay attention to his words.

Dorea continued. "And as you yourself have discovered, Draco, Harry wanted too much of what was beyond the veil. Since the Old Magic loved Harry very much, it is possible that it allowed Harry to change the world to the way you see it now simply to reclaim him. Several unshakeable truths remain, like Voldemort's second rise to power and Dumbledore's death. The rest, however, Harry was free to change.""

"So Harry... exchanged his life..." Draco took a deep shuddering breath to control the shaking in his voice. "He exchanged his life to bring back the people he loved?"

"As you have seen, it's not just his life. It's his entire existence. Neville Longbottom took his place."

"But it was still Harry who had to defeat the Dark Lord!" cried Draco. "I asked Longbottom! He told me a voice was telling him what to do - Harry's voice!" Dorea looked surprised. Draco screamed. "Why? Why did he sacrifice so much for us? What about his parents? If he had a choice in the matter, why did they go insane?"

"I'm not absolutely certain," Dorea said weakly, "but my guess is that my son and his wife's parental bonds with Harry allowed them see a world in which Harry lived - the world as it was supposed to be - and it drove them mad with grief."

Draco buried his head in his hands. Anguish roared in his head and he felt that he would go mad with it. "Why me? Why am I the only one who remembers? I'm no Seer like you."

"It is possible that when Harry forfeited himself, he felt a great swell of emotion for you. That emotion imprinted itself like a shadow upon your being. That is why you still remember him. Because part of him is with you."

"Lily Potter said to me before that - that 'Harry-" Draco swallowed. "That 'Harry must have loved me very much'."

"The clinically insane can actually see invisible forces better than the rest of us. Add on the fact that she was pulled from death, Lily would have known what has happened to Harry, and sensed his presence in you."

"No." Draco felt numb. How could this be the truth? The truth was supposed to help him get Harry back. But how was he to fight against Old Magic? How could he reverse a force more impregnable than Death?

"Why should we believe you?" said Lupin. There was a surprisingly cold edge to his voice. Out of the two, Draco expected Sirius to erupt. But the usually calm Lupin was now shaking, lips white and forehead so creased he looked ten years older. "If what you're saying is true, then James and Lily's son sacrificed himself so that Sirius and I could live."

Draco got shakily onto his feet and was a little surprised at how tired he felt. Maybe it was the months of relentless research finally taking its toll. Or maybe it was that he finally had the truth and the weight of it was crushing him with sadness. Either way, there was one thing he knew for sure: there was no resuming his life after this.

"Draco," said Lupin.

"I don't care if you don't believe it," snapped Draco softly. "I didn't come here to explain anything to you. I came here for answers. Now that I have them, I'm leaving."

"What will you do?" asked Dorea.

Draco gave a tiny, careless shrug. "I don't know," he lied. He picked up his cloak and made for the door.

XX

_"I grew up in a cupboard. Under the stairs."_

Draco woke up staring at the painted ceiling of his bedroom; his left side feeling cold and bereft. Astoria had returned home late last night and slid next to him beneath the covers. She must have risen very early to have gone before he woke up. Draco was just relieved to not have to converse with her this morning.

He brought up fingers to his left temple and chased the memory of the previous night.

Yesterday had been surreal. It had been ciders and Firewhiskies after hours of one-on-one Quidditch. Draco hadn't bothered hiding his envy at Potter's stamina after all these years. The hope of Potter losing his edge with age had been a fruitless one. Then in the furthest corner of the Three Broomsticks, they huddled close under the flush of intoxication.

Potter had magicked his hair blond with a matching false mustache to avoid recognition. He'd raised his nose, adopted a snotty tone and tried acting like an aristocrat, but Draco had knocked him out of it with a swift kick to his shin under the table, declaring that that was _not_ how aristocrats acted.

Draco then did his best impression of his father, complete with raised eyebrows and hair flips and all.

Potter had hollered with laughter and spilled Firewhisky over himself and Draco. It'd been messy and disgusting when his pants started to stick uncomfortably to his crotch, but Potter had looped an arm around him. Draco's mental signals started wailing at that point, but he'd felt too comfortable and sluggish to move away.

His left side had never felt so warm.

They'd talked the night away, about everything and nothing. By the time they decided to pay, Draco had been half sure they'd exhausted all conversation for a good month.

In front of the Three Broomsticks, several steps away from their Apparating spot and under the dimness of the light splashed onto them from the small tavern windows, Draco could've sworn he felt the press of lips against his head. That warm press was a sensation Draco had heretofore never felt.

Narcissa was a firm advocator of keeping personal spaces, even with her only child. She discouraged hugs and kisses and gave Draco cold stares whenever he dared venture close for some coddling as a child. She was very similar to Lucius in that regard.

That was why the kiss to his temple was a sensation so strange, he was still reeling by the time he'd arrived home.

While preparing for bed, Draco had found himself thinking back on the times he detested Potter. Even after the war, Draco had not much love for the boy who saved his life. It didn't help that the Prophet continued to publish articles about Potter and his perfect family, perfect friends, perfect life.

Draco had been willing to bet that Potter never had to question his place in life. Bet he had _Saviour of the Universe_ stamped across his forehead the moment he popped out of the womb.

Then, Potter had done this interview with the Quibbler. No doubt it was a favour to Luna to help boost dropping sales. In it, he revealed:

"I grew up in a cupboard. Under the stairs."

Draco could scarcely believe it.

Several days after the publication of that interview, the _Prophet_ bought rights to re-print it. Soon, the entire nation knew about their hero's odd childhood. Having a bedroom under the stairs, going without food as punishment, verbally and emotionally abused by relatives who hated magic and looked the other way when their son bullied him. For the longest time, wizarding Britain held a pity party for Harry Potter.

That was probably what drove Potter to New Orleans for New Years that year.

Meeting him at the bar had been a complete coincidence. Draco remembered feeling a bit awkward and hesitant because he was unsure of where he stood with Potter. All the while, he'd thought that Potter grew up on silk cushions and continuous adoration. It was disconcerting finding that all his assumptions about Potter had been baseless. It made him feel sicker when he realised that it was Lucius who'd encouraged most of them.

The war had separated Draco from most of the world. He had been drastically disillusioned and broke of nearly all connections because he couldn't stand his fellow Slytherins casting him side glances that screamed, 'Look how the mighty have fallen'. Blaise and Goyle were the few exceptions. And of course, Astoria, who married him under the delusion of a childhood crush.

Draco hadn't cared at the time. He was only interested in obtaining progeny to shut his mother up; didn't care that he had shut Astoria out of their marriage by opening his bank accounts to her and closing his thoughts.

Years he had passed without forming connections with anyone, besides his son.

That night in the pub, Potter's overt friendliness might have broken him.

To be fair, Draco had put himself in a vulnerable spot with Potter. He wasn't sure why. Guilt, maybe. Shame. Embarrassed that he had bullied a boy with such a distressing childhood in their formative years. That Potter didn't censure him was a miracle in itself and Draco found himself clinging on to whatever mercies Potter allowed him.

Draco touched his head again.

Now, after years of stumbling and covering up insecurities with patchy arrogance, he felt ...

The door to his bedroom was flung open and Draco half-expected Astoria. But it was Narcissa with the breakfast tray, rambling before Draco could even greet her good morning. "Draco, I just heard the most interesting piece of gossip from my cousin in Ireland. Apparently, that Weasley boy is planning to branch out his joke shop. Can you imagine? A Weasley running a shop successful enough to have an outlet as far as Ireland. I remember the time a line that that would've brought the entire table down laughing."

Draco wiped a hand over his face. "Of course I know mother. George has been talking about Ireland for the past month. You would know too if you ever listened to anything I say over dinner."

The years have been kind to Narcissa Malfoy, who looked beautiful and regal still in her old age, but the harshness of her scowl then transformed her face. "Is it my fault that I abhor the company you choose to keep nowadays, Draco?"

Draco gave his mother an incredulous look. "_Yes._"

Narcissa set the tray onto the table with a loud clang. "I still don't understand why you want to surround yourself with riffraff when Blaise comes to call on you every other day. His daughter fancies you, you know. Can't blame her. You inherited your father's good looks. Back in the day, your father used to attract stares left and right -"

"Mother," Draco said with a heavy sigh. "Aside from discreetly suggesting that I should take a minor for my second wife, is there a reason you've chosen to grace me with your presence so early in the morning?"

Narcissa's face turned sour again. Even more than before if that was possible. "You have a guest in the receiving room."

Draco jumped out of bed. "And the reason you didn't mention this first is?"

"It's Potter," spat Narcissa.

Draco's eyes widened with surprise. He didn't remember making plans with Harry for today. Nevertheless, he tugged off his nightclothes, uncaring that his mother was standing right there, and fitted a piece of toast between his teeth as he pulled on some decent-looking robes.

"Look at you," said Narcissa. "All in a flurry and for what? To meet a man who ruined our family-"

"He saved my life!" said Draco.

"And I saved his!"

Draco stared at his mother while buttoning up his robes, trying to decide if she has finally gone mad. "Mother, he's my friend. _Deal with it_."

"But he bogarts all your time! Didn't you just spend the whole of yesterday with him?"

"He's a good friend. I enjoy my time with him."

"You're becoming dependent on him," accused Narcissa.

"And if I am?"

"You will get hurt." The sorrow and finality that punctured Narcissa's voice stopped Draco at the door. "I've never seen you get so attached to anyone. That's why I know that when he leaves you, you won't recover."

Draco turned and placed a gentle hand on his mother's shoulder. He smiled. "You don't have to worry, mother. Harry would never leave me."

X

After discovering the truth at Godric's Hollow, Draco packed up his things at Hogwarts and returned to his normal life. He managed his apothecary, went out for drinks with Blaise, accompanied his mother to several opera showings and stopped talking about Harry Potter,

Everyone was relieved. They were glad that Draco was done with this madness. Never mind that he's stopped laughing and smiling ever since. Never mind that he has withered to a shell of his former self. Never mind that whenever they looked into Draco Malfoy's eyes, all they saw was glass.

Never mind.

Draco himself didn't see his cheeks hollow and body sag from the exhaustion of troubled nights and absent appetite. He didn't notice Narcissa grow pale with worry and Astoria staying home more often out of concern. He was convinced that he had them all fooled. "I'm okay," he would say. Aside from the streaks of dried tears and dry-heaving and the sobs that reduced his body to tremors. "I'm perfectly alright."

X

Days bled into weeks, which bled into months.

Draco lost count of time as his drew out in own self-destruction. Before he knew it, it was May and he received the invitation to Hogwarts castle to celebrate the anniversary of the battle that saw the end of Voldemort.

Draco burned the letter upon sight but Astoria received the same invitation. All Hogwarts alumni who had participated or been present for the battle were sent the same letter. Draco turned his face away when Astoria commanded that he go to this event with her.

"I never asked you for anything else," she said. "Not for the love or attention that is rightfully mine when I married you. Do this for me." Draco was unmoved. Astoria's beautiful face went cold as she added, "Scorpius expects us to be there."

Draco nodded tiredly as he stared into the empty fireplace. He was suddenly struck with the image of parchment strewn all over the table and Harry Potter drooling on them. He drank deeply from his glass of Firewhisky and waved Astoria away.

Astoria pursed her lips at the treatment. She said, "Look at you. You're pathetic. The man I married scorned and laughed at the world. He walked as if everyone was beneath you and I admired him for that confidence. What happened to him?"

"He fell in love."

Astoria was stunned into silence. Draco could tell that she wanted to ask 'who', but she was nearing ten notches on the infidelity belt, and so she didn't say anything. He watched her leave him from the corner of his eye without so much as a shudder. He was glad he chose such a strong, beautiful woman to be the mother of his child. She was the type of person who could live forever without love.

X

This was suffocating.

Scorpius had left the Slytherin table some time ago and Astoria had gone to mingle with the Zabinis. On his right was Goyle ogling Pansy Parkinson, who looked gorgeous in expensive new robes and new cheek implants. On his left, was Blaise's little girl, Desiree, making doe eyes at him.

Draco grabbed his things and walked out of the Great Hall.

Along the way he saw the Creevey brothers regaling their impressionable sons with heroic tales of the great Neville Longbottom. Opposite them were Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang, arms around each other, as they smiled and recounted their adventures as part of Dumbledore's Army.

At the far end of the Gryffindor table, the Longbottom and Weasley families were trying to fend off the zealous attentions of overeager students. Longbottom, Weasley and Granger were the main instruments of ending the Second Wizarding War. They were heroes. Nearly god-like to the students. They were not getting any peace tonight.

Draco was a little surprised to see Scorpius happily ensconced between Rose Weasley and one of her brothers. One of Longbottom's sons then sidled up next to Scorpius and slid an arm around his shoulders. Draco was momentarily struck by the green eyes of Longbottom Junior but quickly shook it off as another one of his delusions.

When he noticed that Longbottom saw him staring, Draco made a resolute turn towards the double doors. He heard a sharp, "Malfoy, wait!" but Draco didn't heed it. He left the light, the cheer and the laughter behind him and climbed up the stairs. He didn't care where it led. It didn't matter.

When the cold air struck his bare face, Draco opened his arms and breathed in. After he making sure that no one had followed him, Draco approached the edge and swung his legs over the battlements. The night wind picked up and nearly threw him back onto safe ground, but Draco held on until the wind slowed. When it did, his face has gone numb from the cold.

Draco picked a sheaf of parchment from under his robe and held it up for the elements and gravity to destroy. The parchment was full of his own handwriting. The first paragraph of the first page read _This is the story of the Boy Who Lived_. He had written it many, many months ago when he had been afraid that he would forget Harry like the rest of the world. He found it under his mattress last night and laughed for a whole minute at his foolishness.

The wind swept the manuscript towards the forest. Further and further away, his story spiraled, until they fell and the darkness brought on by night swallowed it up. Draco felt his heart lift a little and the back of his neck prickled.

"I wanted to kiss you that night," he said to no one. He fancied that someone was listening to him. That something in the dark chasm below or in the air around him understood his words. He fancied that it was Harry; liked to think that Harry could hear his words.

"That night," he said, "when you asked if things would have been different if we'd been friends earlier. I wanted to tell you that I didn't care because we're friends now." Draco felt too tired to even cry anymore. "How could you do this to me? You complete and utter prat."

"Malfoy?"

A loud cheer erupted behind him in the Great Hall. The festivities continued.

"What do you want, Lupin?"

The older wizard stepped closer. "I was worried when I saw you running out of the hall. You look terrible," he added as an afterthought.

"And you reek of chocolate. Congrats on your fourth year as the Defense professor, by the way. You broke the record by a mile."

"Draco-"

"Don't, Lupin. Just don't. By the sound of things, you've come to terms with what you learned in January. I'm happy that you have but what you learned as the shocking truth is my entire life."

"Don't pretend that you're the only one dealing with loss," said Sirius, suddenly appearing from the darkness. "We lost friends in the war too. James and Lily were our best friends growing up. Do you think we're content with how their lives turned out? That their choices are either death or madness? That their son was doomed to such a fate?"

"You make the mistake in assuming I care about what the two of you think," spat Draco. "I hate the sight of you. You two are a reminder of why Harry is gone. If Harry didn't love you so much-

"When did love become a crime?" said Sirius hotly. "Sacrifices happen, Draco. Loss happens. Deal with it."

"No, _you_ try dealing with the complete obliteration of the person you love! Harry's friendship was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me and now it's like it never happened!" yelled Draco. "I can't just pretend that I'm alright with what he did. It eats me inside every day not knowing why I'm the only one who remembers. Of all people, why is it me? Why not his wife or his best friend or his children? Why the scumbag wizard who hated him for most of his life? Why ruin me?"

"Draco, you're not making sense! Come back over the edge and listen to reason," said Lupin.

Draco laughed bitterly. "Reason doesn't apply here. I'm tired of this world."

"Malfoy, don't you dare jump!" screeched Sirius. "Think about your family! Your son!"

"Did you think I spent these months twiddling my thumbs? I've tied up all the loose ends. Astoria is more than capable of taking care of Scorpius. In any case, I've not been a good father to him. Whoever Astoria chooses to marry will be a vast improvement compared to me."

Lupin beseeched him, "Draco, think about-"

"No. I'm done thinking." Draco bowed his head and stared at the world beneath his suspended feet. "I just don't fucking care anymore." He pushed himself off the battlement and allowed gravity to drown him like a ravenous monster. Wind whipped through him so loudly and fiercely it sounded like shrieks in his ears.

Draco closed his eyes. Once he hit the ground, it will all be over. He won't feel any more pain.

X

Draco woke up staring at the painted ceiling of his bedroom. His first feeling was disappointment. Did he not succeed? If a twenty-foot fall was not enough to kill him, what was?

He tried narrowing his focus to detect the presence of pain in any of his extremities. But he felt perfectly well. The nausea and headache that have been his constant companions since discovering the truth were absent. Draco wondered if that was a good thing.

"That was a reckless thing you did."

Draco hasn't heard that voice in years. He could hardly believe he was hearing it now. He pushed himself into an upright position against the oak headboard, engraved with the Malfoy crest, and was met with the sight of his deceased, former headmaster, enjoying a cup of tea by the veranda.

Draco was briefly reminded of the sight of Dumbledore tumbling over the side of the battlements, the taunts of _your fault, your fault, your fault_, chanting in his ears all through Dumbledore's funeral and the nightmares that succeeded it.

Seeing him lounging in his bedroom now, Draco came to the logical conclusion. "So I'm dead now."

"Not quite. You are somewhere in between," said Dumbledore. Finally, he turned to properly appraise Draco. The preternatural light in his eyes dimmed a little with concern. "You've lost weight."

Draco frowned. "What? I don't understand."

Dumbledore smiled. "I have to commend you for coming this far. Very few wizards have ever managed to reach the platform dividing life and death. The night before Voldemort's defeat, I met with Harry just like I am with you right now." At the mention of Harry's name, Draco's head shot up. "He had the choice of staying here and enjoying the peace of death after a life of hardship, or go back. He was the only one who ever chose the latter," said Dumbledore with a swell of pride.

Draco licked his lips nervously. "Is he here?" His heart skipped when Dumbledore gave a tiny but perceptible nod. Draco scrambled out of bed. "Where?"

"I don't know. This is your home, isn't it? Where do you think he would be? Draco," said Dumbledore before Draco ran out the door. His eyes glinted with hinted truths behind half-moon spectacles. "You have the same choice too, you know."

Without giving an answer, Draco pushed open the door and went.

X

Draco checked the kitchen and the dining room despite knowing full well that Harry wouldn't be there. Months of looking into every corner and not finding the other man has made Draco wary of raising his hopes. But as he walked into the sitting room and saw the dark-haired figure sitting on the sofa, round frames settled low on the bridge of his nose and flipping idly through the latest _Prophet_, Draco's heart took a large leap.

Draco cautiously took a seat opposite Harry, as if afraid that moving too fast would cause Harry to disappear like an illusion. The front page of the _Daily Prophet_ declared the happy anniversary of Voldemort's defeat. There was a photo of Diagon Alley, decked in decorations. Right next to it was a the picture of a grinning Neville Longbottom.

Draco surprised himself by speaking first. "I suppose you think yourself very clever. You change the world as you like, pull the disappearing act and in your stead, you leave that oaf."

Harry lowered the newspaper and smiled. "Hey, that's my friend you're talking about."

"It's still you, isn't it? Everyone just _thinks_ that it was Longbottom who killed Voldemort." Draco paused, thinking back on the conversation that led him to all this. "He said you talked in his head."

"I did. After I left, I started talking to Neville to convince him that he was the Chosen One. His mind filled up all the blank spots on its own. The human mind is actually a very useful device."

"Truly, you would've felt at home at Slytherin."

"Aw, Drake, you know how I get when you flatter me." Harry then looked around the sitting room as if seeing it for the first time after an age. "It feels like not so long ago that we were sitting here reviewing poisons. Is it strange that of all the times we spent together, that night we fell asleep here doing work was the one I remember best?"

Draco clenched his jaw in a reflex denial and released it just as quickly. "Don't play. We both know that night meant something. Though, I cannot vouch that the significance it held for me is the same as yours."

Harry's smile gained a sad edge. "You've lost weight."

Draco snapped. "Whose fault do you think that is? I wake up one day and my best friend was gone. No explanation - nothing! And everyone tried convincing me that I was crazy. Sometimes, I wondered if I was; if you had been some sweet dream I conjured up. Then, I discover that it was all. your. fault." Draco felt a burning sensation behind his eyes and closed them. He was _not _crying in front of Harry. "You made me like this, you stupid, overbearing, thoughtless sonofabitch."

Heavy silence fell between them. When Draco opened his eyes again, Harry was standing by the closed French windows that led out to the balcony with his back facing Draco. "I'm sorry. You should have forgotten like the rest," he said.

"So why didn't I?"

"Because I didn't want you to."

Draco blinked. Come again?

Harry continued, "It was an accident. At the last moment, I thought about what it would be like if you didn't remember me and I hated it. I wanted to matter to you. When I realised what I'd done, I tried to undo it but it didn't work."

"What about your family? Your best friends? Why were you okay with _them _forgetting you?"

Harry turned, showing Draco his sheepish smile. "I've known Ron and Hermione and Ginny all my life. I've had a lot of time with them and I'm content with that. But I was just getting to know you. Twenty years, I thought I understood you. Turns out I didn't and I enjoyed learning more about you, and knowing that you felt the same about me and... I guess I wasn't ready to give that up."

Draco swallowed thickly. "What about your children? How could you be okay with leaving them?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Draco stiffened. "No, we are not making this about me right now. I deserve to know why you did this."

"You already know. You're the only one I've ever told," said Harry. "I'm glad I managed to give Sirius and the others their lives back. Did you see how happy they were?"

"Why is their happiness worth more than yours? Or mine?"

"I didn't know you loved me."

_How could you not know?_ Draco did not say.

"And as for my children, Neville and Ginny are taking good care of them. They might look a little different but they're still my children."

"Longbottom Jr. has green eyes," said Draco.

Harry laughed. "Yeah. I did always like my mum's green eyes on James. Couldn't bear to change them."

"Don't you think this is a little unfair to Longbottom? He thinks those are his children."

"This entire situation is unfair from the start. It's unfair that I'm able to do this. It's unfair that everyone's memories have to be altered to indulge my selfishness. But I think it's a small price to pay so many lives. Snape, Lupin, Cedric - they all have a chance to have a family. They make this worth it."

"No, they don't, you self-sacrificing bastard! I would've killed them all if I thought it would bring you back. Do you have any idea how much I hated them after I found out the truth?"

Anguish softened Harry's expression and Draco felt almost triumphant for putting it there. "I'm sorry. I honestly thought you would give up after finding nothing."

"When you left, you made everything unbearable. If only I hadn't known you," said Draco, dropping his head into his hands.

"You have a choice." Harry threw the French windows open.

Draco gasped when he saw the interior of the Great Hall in front of his balcony. He saw his friends and their children laughing and eating at their House tables and the professors chatting with one another at the high table on the left. This was happening as he sat here with Harry. His heart clenched at the sight of his son, who was being coerced into an eating competition by Albus Longbottom (formerly Potter).

Draco saw Harry stare longingly at his children. Sympathy slowly displaced his anger. There was no way Harry was completely alright with leaving his family. How often he must have watched them like this.

Harry said, "Dumbledore must've told you about the choice. You're not exactly dead. You can choose to go back and live a normal happy life..."

Draco watched Scorpius wrench away from the drunken embrace of the boy who used to be James Potter (Jr.) to ask Astoria if she has seen Draco. Draco's heart clenched guiltily. Scorpius' reaction was the one he feared the most when he decided to jump. His son would never forgive him. Draco watched as Astoria shook her head coolly and returned to her conversation with Pansy Parkinson.

"...and you will forget all about me." Harry offered a pained smile. "I pulled some strings. If you go back this time, you will be like everyone else. You won't remember anything about me. Harry Potter will cease to exist."

"What about Sirius and Lupin then? They remember! Dorea too!"

"I can easily wipe Sirius and Remus' memories. I can't do anything about my grandmother though. She's a Seer. It's natural for her to know. It's not my place to meddle with her memories."

"But you have no qualms about messing with everyone else's?"

"I don't. Don't pretend like you would have done it any different, Drake. Just like you, I couldn't bear the world. The difference is that I have the power to change it."

Draco punched Harry square across the jaw. Auror reflexes should have helped him evade the obvious arc of Draco's fist. Nonetheless Harry fell to the ground with a grunt. He ran a thumb over the forming bruise.

"You have no right, Harry. No right at all! But Merlin help me, I've gone stupid for you. If you can see this," said Draco, pointing at the scene of celebrations in front of the balcony, "you could see what I was doing all this while, couldn't you? You must've seen the wreck I've become without you!"

"But as long as you don't remember me-"

"I'll still be miserable. I just won't know why!" insisted Draco.

Harry stood up slowly. "If you stay here, you will die in that world. You won't ever get to talk to your son, your mother, your wife or your friends ever again."

As if on cue, Sirius broke into the Great Hall and sprinted straight towards Astoria. Draco saw the ex-convict pull Astoria away from Pansy and quietly confided in her what had just happened. Astoria went white and rushed out of the hall with Sirius. Draco's never seen her this worried before.

"You want me to leave?" he said to Harry in a restrained voice.

Harry didn't look at him. "You should go. You still have a chance at a happy life."

"I didn't ask you what you think I _should_ do. I asked you what you _wanted_ me to do."

"Does it make a difference? I just don't want you to regret whatever you decide."

Before them, the celebrations were reaching a crescendo. Colin Creevey, who has always been a lightweight and had been duped into taking some spiked punch, swayed as he stood on his seat and cast small fireworks into the air. "_Three cheers for the Chosen One! Three cheers for the one who fought to save us all! Hurrah for Neville Longbottom!_"

The final cheer echoed around the entire hall. Everyone raised their goblets and drank. At that moment, Draco was certain that only Harry Potter could smile at such a spectacle, despite having fought and sacrificed and died so they could have a better life than his. However, Draco refrained from commenting when he saw Scorpius raise his goblet after everyone else put theirs down.

Though the din in the hall was at an almost obscene volume, both Draco and Harry could hear the young boy as clear as day. "_Hurrah for the Boy Who Lived_." Scorpius lifted the goblet to his lips and drank.

Draco saw Harry gape, green eyes wide as he's ever seen in, and shook his head.

"You really are a stupid bastard."

X

Scorpius leapt off his broom and ran for shelter. He could hear Nott trying to scream at him through the thunder. But he wasn't haven't any of it. Not today. Not when it's both raining and the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Classes have been cancelled for the rest of the day because the teachers were all helping to finalise finishing touches on the Great Hall decorations. Nott had commandeered this time for extra Quidditch practice.

It was a challenge, really. Everybody knew that Scorpius Malfoy, Slytherin's prize Chaser, didn't play in the rain. Much less a storm.

Lightning cracked and one of the Beater's broom caught fire.

"You're going to get kicked off the team if you keep this up," said Rose, closing her book when Scorpius claimed the seat next to her on the bench.

"Yeah? I'd like to see anyone else on this shitty team try to get pass Longbottom in next week's game." Scorpius shucked off his waterlogged uniform, scrunching his nose when it fell with a wet splotch. Rose edged further away from him to avoid stray droplets of rain.

"You know, you can be a real arse when you're in a bad mood."

"Really? I had no idea," said Scorpius drily as took his uniform, squeezed it, and watched rainwater enough to fill a bucket pour out onto his feet. "Forgive me if I'm not in a very festive mood. It's only the anniversary of my father's death, after all. No big deal."

"Oh, suck it up. All our parents had friends who died on this day years ago and they're not going around making everyone feel bad with sarcastic remarks."

Scorpius snorted. "Name me one good friend your parents lost in the battle."

Rose paused to consider.

"See? They keep saying how the war stole many lives but for some reason, most of the people here didn't lose anyone close. Well, Father lost Crabbe, but from what I heard, Crabbe's always been kind of a dick."

"Insulting the dead is _low_."

"What? Your father said it."

"And my mum hits him for every time he does it. By the way, have you asked your mother about summer?"

Scorpius nodded. "I'm all yours for August till the start of new term. Mother's not going to be around anyway. She and grandmother are going to visit some friends in Scotland." Scorpius sighed and stretched out his hands. "I wish they'd gotten along this well before Father died. If they did, maybe he wouldn't have jumped."

"You can't honestly think that your father jumped because of that. His death was probably what brought them close together." Rose brought her feet up to the edge of the bench and hugged her knees. This position displayed her long, wonderful legs for all the world to see.

Scorpius narrowed his eyes and dropped his wet uniform onto her legs.

"Hey!" said Rose. She stood up quickly and tried to wring out the wet stains on her skirt. "Merlin, you can be so childish sometimes!"

"Everyone agrees that my father jumped because he'd gone mad. Months of searching for a man who didn't exist. Yeah, I'd say those were grounds for psychosis. That's why I can't get mad at him. Much as I want to," said Scorpius. Rose went quiet. "I knew my father. He probably thought dying was the best solution." Scorpius felt a pinprick of warmth at the back of his neck and scratched at it.

"If you aren't mad, then what's with the bad mood every year?" said Rose.

"I said I wasn't mad. Doesn't mean I can't brood."

Rose rolled her eyes. "You really are such an arse." Twenty feet away, Nott touched ground and started marching towards Scorpius. Rose leant down and pecked Scorpius on the cheek. "I'm going to the library. Come find me when Nott's done screaming at you, okay?"

Scorpius nodded. The warm feeling on the back of his neck flowered. Scorpius looked from side to side, wondering if someone was watching him. But there was no one. Scorpius brushed it off as his imagination and stood up as his team captain came to talk his ear off again.

X

Draco watched in bemusement as his son turned the tables on Nott's son, who was never as clever as his father, and reprimanded him about the dangers of flying during a storm. Scorpius definitely has a more gifted tongue for sarcasm than Draco himself, and that was saying something. He felt Harry approach him from behind and drape himself over his back.

"You're heavy," said Draco without moving his gaze.

Harry grinned but did not remove himself. "Are you sure you're alright leaving him on his own?"

Draco watched as Scorpius left the pitch without waiting for Nott to come up with an rejoinder for his remark. He was on his way to the library when he was half-tackled round the middle by Hugo Weasley. Dominque and Louis Weasley came bounding right behind their cousin. Soon, Scorpius was running to avoid being smothered by the lot of them. It was almost funny how fond the second generation of Weasleys were of the young Malfoy.

Scorpius sprinted up the steps, trying to keep his broom out of Louis' reach at the same time. "_Dammit, why won't you guys leave me alone!_"

"_You can't escape us, Scorpius!_" said Dominique.

"_You're gonna marry Rosie, aren't you? You're practically family_," said Hugo gleefully.

Draco laughed as Scorpius scrambled into the library, earning a sharp glare from the librarian, and stared beseechingly at Rose moments before the other Weasleys caught up and wrestled him to the ground with a triumphant roar. "He's not on his own. He's got more than enough people watching out for him," said Draco. He stepped away and closed the windows, shutting off his view to the mortal world.

He looked back at Harry and barely registered the surroundings that shifted before him.

This time, they were in the New Orleans bar where Draco had met Harry during New Year's Eve. Draco took a seat amongst a row of empty stools while Harry was on the other side of the counter, pouring lagers for them.

James Potter walked in and sat two seats away from Draco. Whenever Harry stood side-by-side with James, they looked like brothers. Draco couldn't explain it but he found it slightly disconcerting. Just as well, James Potter didn't visit them very often, preferring to watch the world on his own or with Dumbledore, whenever Grindelward wasn't bogarting the old headmaster's time.

"What brings you here?" said Harry.

James was beaming. "I've just come back from conversing with your grandmother. According to her, Lily will be coming along soon."

"Congrats, dad!"

Draco shook his head. "Everything is so backwards here. We get _excited_ when people are about to die."

"You're alright. You two keep each other company. I'm the odd one out here," said James.

Harry grinned, knocking shoulders with Draco as he slid into the stool next to him. "Call me when mom gets here," he said to James, who nodded and left the room with his drink. "So, what do you think about spending eternity with me so far? Bearable?"

"Quite. Over here, it's impossible for either of us to betray each other or have affairs with anyone else, so I'd say that this is the best relationship I've ever had with anyone in my life."

Harry laughed.

Then, his face took on a more sobering quality as he said, "You didn't have to stay. I didn't expect that of you after what I'd done."

Draco snorted. "_Please_. That world is crazy. I'd be stupid to want to be part of it any longer than I have to. Besides..."

Draco thought back on all the experiences he had with Harry; both the good and the bad. It was hard to deny that there's always been something between them. That it flowered into a friendship that surpasses a simple acknowledgement of one another had been a blessing on his part. But the fact that it stopped just short of lovers had made Draco desperate; for more, for everything it could be, and for it just as it was.

"...living in that world without you - _that's _unbearable," finished Draco.

And now, it was just the two of them, in a bar, with ice-cold lagers and world before them to watch.

Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks when Harry directed a broad, honest smile at him. "Thanks, Drake."

"Not at all," said Draco with an easy smile. Everything from now on would be easy.

A dimension away, Scorpius was kicked out of the library, along with the Weasleys (except Rose), and was banned from it for a week. Snape begged off decoration duty so he could check up on his wife and baby. Lupin and Tonks took a week off work to tour France. Sirius stayed at their place to babysit Mirabella. Neville Longbottom announced that he was going to publish a book about his life story. Fred and George Weasley celebrated the 25th anniversary of their joke shop. And so on. And so on.

And all was well.

* * *

><p>END<p> 


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